Tequila
by Invader ZaiFae
Summary: So named because it is a collection of one shots. This time: Nightcrawler takes time off from the whole crime-fighting thing to search for something he's lost, without knowing exactly what it is. ((Set in the future))
1. Introduction

Okay, hi.  I'm back; just thought I'd let you know.  You see, I know I ended "A Shift in the Evolution" on a bit of an unsatisfactory note, but I had a few good reasons for that.  One was that I couldn't think of a really, really good way to end it without making it at least ten chapters longer.  Another reason was I didn't have enough inspiration for all those extra chapters.  Also, I tend to mimic the writing of style of whatever books I'm reading at the time, and at that time I was reading the Samaria series by Sharon Shinn, all of which end rather like 'Shift.'  Now, I don't think I'm going to write a sequel to that, so instead I offer you this collection of one-shots, most of which are probably going to be Kurt and Mythos centered, and probably pretty fluffy.  There are at least going to be five of these, maybe more if I can think of them, and most will build on the foundations laid between the pair of them in "Shift."

Oh!  I'd like to introduce you all to the muse who is now filing the position of combined shoulder angel/shoulder demon: Nightcrawler!  

NC: *Waves* 

All the moral consultation of two different muses, in one convenient package!  Bargain price!  Efficient (and cute) shoulder-sitting size!  A must-have!  And he's mine, all mine!

NC: At least you didn't try to stuff me into a robe or anything…

This time.  Heh heh heh…

NC: O.O

So.  Yeah.  Here's my first offering, called "Classifications."  Enjoy!

Oh, BTW, the summary for the story will change each time I update!


	2. Classifications

Janella perched in an armchair in the rec room, legs tucked underneath her and laptop open on her lap.  Her fingers were flying over the keys, eyes flicking up occasionally to skim over and proofread her work.  Dinner had just ended about fifteen minutes ago, and she was taking advantage of the momentary calm to get a jump on her homework.

            "Done!" she said triumphantly, tapping in the save command.

            "Vith vhat?" Kurt asked, appearing behind her chair.  She wrinkled her nose.

            "An essay assignment I had," she said, trying to fill her voice with disgust.  "Man, I hate homework!!"

            "Ditto!" Kurt said with a laugh.  "Vhat did you have to write about?"

            "It was for my psychology class," she said.  "We had to write an essay about cliques, and why people become part of them.  Then we had to 'classify' our friends, putting them in the cliques they're a part of."

            "Sounds interesting," Kurt said.  "Mind if I take a look?"  She shook her head.

            "Nope.  Here."  She pushed the laptop into his hands and slid onto the arm of the chair, allowing him to sit.  He smiled at her and made himself comfortable, scrolling up to the top of the document and beginning to read.

            "People say that kids today have no sense of loyalty to the people who really matter: their families and friends.  Of course, by friends, I mean the people who love and care for you for who you are, who always stand by you, and who understand what goes on in your heart of hearts.  Ask some kids today, though, and you may not get this same definition of friends.  Nowadays, a friend is the person like you on the outside, who belongs to your social circle.  Most kids do not have real, true friends anymore.  In fact, you shouldn't be surprised to find that someone who has called him of herself your friend one day turns around and is stabbing you in the back the next.  

            There is very little stability in the social circles of today's youth, which is why cliques are often so discernible in a high school cafeteria or mall food court.  One of the biggest needs of a teenager is the need to be accepted.  So, when accepted into a clique, into a group of friends, some teenagers are often willing to bury their real personality under one they feel is most likely to be accepted by the group, so their chances of remaining increase.  However, one wrong move, one misplaced statement, and a teen can find him of herself cast out from the group they thought their friends.  So, they trade their old personality for an equally false new one, and try to fit in somewhere else.

            All the people I count among my friends can be classed into cliques, and most likely, they would all fit in quite well.

            Take, for example, Scott Summers.  He is a Leader.  He is responsible and trustworthy.  If you need someone to organize and event, Scott is a very good choice to make, for he is sure to get the job done and well.  He is reasonably athletic and quite good-looking.  He does well in school.  His friends are likely to be Leaders like himself, which can result in power play between them, but nothing serious.  Scott is the type of boy every teenage girl's mother wants her to go out with.

            We can also look at Jean Grey.  She is a Popular Girl.  This means she's pretty, smart, athletic; in other words, perfect.  As Popular Girl, she can do no wrong.  She's always decked out in designer clothing, she always has the right thing to say, and she never commits a social error.  She catches the eye of all the Jocks, and she and her friends, the other Popular Girls, make sure no members of the team are available.

            Another girl easy to categorize is Kitty Pryde.  She is you typical Valley Girl.  Her favorite hangout is the mall, where she and her other Valley Girl friends check out the hot guys and shop for the newest trends in clothes, jewelry, and makeup.  Though not blond, she does seem to be a bit ditzy.  Since the Popular Girls lay claim to the best looking among the pickings at your average American high school, Valley Girls tend to go after the Bad Boys, the ones who, though they might look good, are too far below the Popular Girls to even be considered.

            Similar to the Bad Boys are the Skaters, those athletes not interested in the classic sports offered by the school.  They excel in, you guessed it, skateboarding, and often skateboarding's brother sports, surfing and snowboarding.  Usually quite punky, skaters don't give a hoot about the 'trends' that sweep the Popular Girls and the Jocks.  They are devoted to their life's passion: skateboarding.  Though my Skater friend Evan Daniels is a guy, this clique is co-ed, and both guys and girls can be Skaters.

            Skaters can be said to be Jokers who have found a solid outlet for their energy.  Jokers are people who, try as they might to fit in, tend to be outcasts, often for the most trivial of reasons.  So, in an attempt to cover their faults, Jokers joke around.  They always have a wisecrack on hand, and actually are highly effective peacemakers, often able to defuse tension between two parties with their lighthearted antics.  Want to see a Joker in action?  Hang around my buddy Kurt Wagner, and you will see what I mean.  Though Jokers come in both sexes, they tend to be guys.

            Speaking of people who don't exactly fit in?  Do not forget the Goths, like Rogue.  Goths are a breed apart.  They dress in dark clothes, most usually black and red.  Their pale complexions set off their dark, heavy makeup and often-black hair.  The Goths like to be left alone, which most people consider a good thing, since the majority of teens in America today do not appreciate free form poetry or heavy punk music.  Where a Joker always has a humorous anecdote on hand, so a Goth has a moody observation on human failings.

            The real outcasts, though, are just that: Outcasts.  People like me; Outcasts do not give a damn about popularity, or conforming.  Though they tend to have a unique style of their own, it is disguised under an apparent unconcern for what they wear or look like.  Outcasts are deep people, with an often-detached perspective on teenage social interaction.  They listen to bands you have never heard of, read books by authors you never knew existed, and have interests in things you outgrew long ago.  The thing about us Outcasts, though, is that we almost fit in everywhere.  We have the makings of Skaters and Goths, Popular Girls and Jocks, Leaders and Jokers.  We just chose not to discard who we truly are for what someone else wants us to be.  Sadly, among all these cliques, Outcasts are the ones who tend to be the most true to themselves.

             There are many more cliques than the ones mentioned here.  There are Punks and Posers, Preps, Geeks, Nerds, and Hicks.  There are Hackers and Druggies, and, cruel as it is to say it, Idiots, and I haven't even begun to get into ethnic cliques.  I just don't happen to name any of their numbers among my friends.

            Now, look back up at the cliques described above.  Do you notice something about us, about my friends, which may seem a bit odd?  That is right.  We are not all from the same clique.  That is because, even though we may all fit perfectly into a set and defined boundary, we are different.  We have one quality that most teenagers today do not.  We know the real meaning of the word friend.

            We know that, despite whom we may hang out with when we are at school, we will always be there for each other.  We can rely on each other for help and support during hard times.  We don't discriminate against each other because of how we look or act, what we wear, or whom we date.  Our bonds go deeper than that, and we know that what we share will last past graduation day, which is more than the members of most of cliques described above can say.  We are friends, in the truest sense of the word."

Kurt sat back in the chair, and looked up to Janella.

"I see you neglected to mention zat all of your friends are members of ze most exclusive clique of zem all: ze X-Men," he said.  She glared at him

"Oh yeah, like I can really put that in a school essay," she said.  He laughed.

"I know," he said.  "I vas just kidding!"

"See?!" she exclaimed, gesturing grandly at the laptop and nearly falling off the arm of the chair.  "What did I say?  You're a Joker!"  He nudged her with the tip of his tail, and she slid off, landing hard on the floor.  He leaned over and crossed his arms, resting his chin on them.

"I vouldn't show zis to some of ze others," he said seriously, seriously enough for her to look up in surprise.  "You're, vell, quite frank in it."  She shrugged.

"You're the only student here who know my background, Kurt," she said.  "Some kids nowadays are being raised with their minds filled with anti-mutant sentiments.  I was raised with anti-human sentiments, and by human I mean every bipedal primate on this planet.  I can't help it if I have a less than favorable view of my own kind."

"Oh."

"I mean, I try not to be so obviously negative in everyday conversation," she continued, "but when I'm writing, I can't stop.  You should have seen the essay I wrote for my World History final last year!  It was all about how it is human nature to want to dominate other humans!"  She let out a harsh sigh, crossing her legs, propping her elbows on her knees and dropping her head into her hands.

"Hey now…" Kurt said gently, reaching down and patting her shoulder.  Abruptly, she began to sob.  

"I mean, I like individual humans," she choked out.  "I like you, and Scott and Jean and Kitty and Rogue and Evan, and Professor X and all of them!  I just don't like humanity as a whole!  I hate what we're doing to this planet, to ourselves, to each other!  I hate the way politicians play all these little games with each other!  I hate the way people only care about themselves, and are willing to sell out their own families out if they'll make a profit!!"  Kurt bit his lip and slid off the chair, wrapping his arm about Janella and pulling her close.

"Calm down, Janella," he said.  "Take a deep breath.  Not all of us are like zat.  Some of us are good."  She sniffled, and dashed the tears from her ears.

"I know that Kurt," she said.  "Like I said, humans as individuals aren't that bad.  But that's where the problem lies.  I only hinted at it in my essay; humans aren't individuals any more.  They don't think for themselves.  They get their opinions from TV, or the newspaper, or somewhere!  They don' think for themselves any more!"

"I don't know about zat," Kurt said.  "Some people…"

"The most famous free thinkers were shunned and ignored as insane during their lifetimes," Janella said dully.  "It wasn't until after they passed on that their ideas were regarded as valid and given the credit they deserved."  She paused, and took a deep breath, letting it out in an exaggerated sigh.  "It's not like I don't think that you or the other X-Men don't think for yourselves.  In my opinion, mutants have the capacity to become the greatest free thinkers on the planet.  They're a new perspective.  But when you guys are in school…" She trailed off.

"All we really want to be is accepted," Kurt murmured.  She nodded.

"I know.  And I respect that.  I'm already shunned.  Like I said, I'm an Outcast, at least at school, and I've always been.  Me and Reno; two of a kind outside the swing of things, ignored; and I'm used to that.    But I think it offers me a clearer perspective on things."

"Maybe I should try being an Outcast for a while," he suggested lightly.  She laughed.

"Nah," she said emphatically, standing.  "You're much too fun to be an Outcast."  She struck a pose, and affected a deep voice.  "We're a melancholy bunch, we are."  Kurt laughed and stood also, giving her a playful shove as he did.  She grinned and poked at him with her tail, before picking up her laptop and gathering all the associated cables.  She yawned.  

"I've got to go find a printer so I can have this printed out for tomorrow," she said.  "Then I'm hitting the sack early.  I'm tired."  She waved to him as she strolled jauntily out of the room, giving no indication that she had been sobbing out deep psychological truths on the floor a moment ago.  Kurt watched her leave, and turned and walked to one of the windows, looking out over the darkening grounds, tail swinging from side to side thoughtfully.  His usually lighthearted friend had just given him an earful to think about, and he got the feeling he would be lying awake in bed for a while tonight, going over what she had told him.  Unbidden, the chorus of a popular song from a while back came to his mind: _"We are, we are the youth of a nation; we are, we are (we are) the youth of a nation."  _He turned away from the rec room window and headed for the door.  He'd have to see Kitty later and see if she had a CD with that song on it.  He wanted to see what the lyrics really said.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

Yesh, here it is, folks.  All…done and what not.  I'm not sure when I'll post the next one, so keep an eye out!

And review!!


	3. Encounter

Okay, next up!  This one's called "Encounter," as is evidenced by the chapter title!  ^.^

Slight rant:  This is my first and probably only attempt at dealing with a fic about religion.  Kurt in the comics verse is very religious at it's only natural that would carry over into Evo verse, but I myself I am atheistic and as such don't feel too comfortable writing about it.  Again, I don't mean to offend or press my beliefs on anyone, I just don't tend to subscribe to any particular religion.  Thank you.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

Kurt had found someplace to call his own; a sanctuary, a retreat for him alone.  Granted many of the others in the Institute had also located little hideaways to secret themselves away in if the need arose, but Kurt's had special meaning.

            He had found a church.

            Well, technically, it was more of a chapel, a derelict little place in the middle of the woods, just a single small building containing an old pulpit, a few rows of pews, and a sort of half open loft that could serve as extra seating in the back, if it was needed.

            Nowadays, the seating was never needed, though, because it was abandoned.  Well, once again, that was a technicality.  Kurt still came there, when he felt the most forlorn or adrift, and just needed to get out of the Institute and talk it over with the Big Guy above.  The old thing gave him a sense of purpose, and he made it a point to visit once or twice a week, just to shoo away any encroaching spiders, and replace the wilting flowers in the pulpit.

            The chapel was with in easy 'porting distance of the Institute, but as far as he knew, none of the others knew about it.  It was one of the few places he could come, and truly be alone…well alone from human contact.  He always felt the presence of God when he was here, and though it made him feel a bit uncomfortable at times, he enjoyed it.  

He was strolling through the woods outside it, collecting some more wildflowers for the pulpit, when he first heard the sounds of an approaching group of people.  At first he thought it was a band of drunken teenagers looking for a place to foolishly consummate their young 'love.'  However, as the group drew closer, their disorganized babble died down into something spookier—rhythmic chanting.  Kurt knew the best thing to do right now would be return to the mansion, and forget he had heard anything, but curiosity got the better of him, and he kited up a tree to watch.

The group passed under his tree, maybe half a dozen of them in all.  They were robed from head to toe in black, and several of them carried sacks.  Kurt realized with a jolt that they were cultists of some sort, and they seemed intent at practicing their cult in his chapel!  He hissed under his breath, and, determined to scare them away before they could trash his sanctuary, he bamfed inside, appearing in a shadowy corner of the loft.

One by one, they filed in, gathering in the open space in front of the pulpit.  One of them lifted his sack and opened it, drawing forth what looked like a can of spray paint.  One of the others was pointing out a design on the floor, and the one with the paint was shaking up the can preparatory to delineating it.  

Kurt felt the fur on the back of his neck stand up.  He was NOT going to let them defile his place like that!  Before he really stopped to think of what he was doing, he gave a shout and leapt from the loft, landing on the back of one of the pews and leaping from there into the center of the startled circle.  He snarled at them, baring his fangs in an effective impression of demonic fury, and the robed figure closest to him drew away.  None of the others did, though, and he realized that he may have misjudged these people when one of the ones behind him swung something heavy and hard into the back of his head.  His last sight was of all six of the figures closing in on him as he collapsed to the floor, unconscious. 

He awoke slowly, not much later.  The back of his head throbbed and he felt something trickling down the back of his neck, which he strongly suspected was blood.  He tried to lift his hand to wipe it away, and found that he could not.  He was bewildered for a moment-and then he remembered.  

He forced his eyes open, and shut them quickly in vertigo.  He could've sworn…he peeked his eyes open again to confirm what he had thought.  Yep.  He vertical, apparently bound upright to a pole of some sort.  Now that he was awake, his senses hammered him with input.  He could feel thick and heavy rope cutting into his abdomen and arms and shoulders.  He could smell musty old wood and dead leaves, which relieved him slightly because it meant that the cultists, whoever they were, had moved their ceremony out of his chapel.  He could see them now, all down on their hands and knees in a half-circle in front of them.  They appeared to be praying.

"Oh deities above, we acknowledge your gift to us in the form of this demon from below, and we thank you for the divine protection that gave us the strength and courage to overcome it," one of them murmured.  "And in the name of all of your glories, we will willingly and honorably sacrifice this beast to you, so that you will bless us and continue to watch over us."  Kurt stiffened, though it took it a moment to hit home: they were planning to sacrifice…him.  The sheer import of that was enough to make him reel, and if he hadn't been bound so tightly to the pole, he would have collapsed to his knees.  All of them cast their hands to the sky, chanted some unintelligible phrase, and stood.  

The one who had been talking earlier seemed to be the leader, for he stepped forward now.  One of the others handed him a sack, and, reaching inside, he drew out a long, gleaming knife.  

Kurt was struck dumb, still unable to get past the shock that he was about to be sacrificed to the gods of some cult.  As the knife drew near his chest, he found he couldn't utter a word, much less a protest.  He twisted and writhed, attempting to get away, but they had lashed him very well to the pole, and he could barely move, and 'porting away was out of the question.  

"See how it struggles," one of them muttered to another.  

"Yes," the robed figure replied.  "It must know it is about die.  I wonder if it realizes that its death is essential?"

_Essential?  Essential?!  How is my death 'essential?!' _he wanted to demand, but his body still wasn't obeying him.  The lead figure paused, and turned to the others, shushing them, before turning back and drawing back his knife arm, preparatory to plunging into Kurt's chest.

"NO!"

The blade stopped less than an inch from the fur on his chest (it was them he realized he was wearing no shirt.)  At first Kurt thought it was himself who had cried out, seeing as there was no other possible explanation, but then he saw the angel.

She was a vision of fury, ice blue eyes narrowed in inexpressible anger, pale gold hair floating about her head in a cloud.  She descended with impossible slowness through the branches of the trees, her huge feathered wings beating deliberately.  The feathers were of the purest white, edged in black.  Immediately, the cultists prostrated themselves on the ground, the dropped knife hitting a rock and bouncing away.

"What do you think you're doing?" the angel demanded, in a firm commanding voice that sounded oddly familiar to him.  

"Oh messenger of the gods above," the leader said, getting to his knees and crawling forward, hands raised towards her in supplication.  "We are simply sacrificing this agent of the underworld to the glory of your masters!"  She snorted contemptuously.

"My masters would not be pleased by this senseless bloodshed," she boomed.  "They would be sickened, and rightly so."  She made a dismissive gesture with one hand.  "Away with you all!  There will be no sacrifice here tonight!"  She glowered down at them all, and when they made no move to leave, she growled audibly.  "What is wrong with you all?  Away!"  At this firm and final command, all of them shot to their feet and scattered off into the woods, not even bothering to pick up their things. 

Not until they were gone did the angel touch down on the ground, folding her wings behind her.  She grinned reassuringly at him, and bent to pick up the discarded knife.  "Are you alright, Kurt?" she asked, moving around behind him and using it to sever his bonds.

"I…uh…who are you?" he managed to get out, craning his head to see her.  She snicked the last rope and straightened up, an affronted expression on her face.

"Kurt," she said solemnly.  "Just because I changed my form and voice, you can't recognize me?"

"Janella!"

"Bingo, Blue!" she said with a laugh and her familiar smirk, reaching out to catch him as he collapsed.  "Aw, jeez.  What did they do to you?" she asked worriedly.  

"Nothing much," he started.

"No, I think it was something," she declared, swinging him up into her arms before he could protest.  "The entire back of your head's bloody, and you can't even stand!"

"I—uh—vell…"

"Hush," she commanded gently.  "You can tell me what happened when we get back to the Institute."

"How did you know?" he asked, searching her face.  She had it upturned to the trees above, and though it seemed like she was searching for the best place to break out from under them, her eyes were distant. 

"Know what?"

"Know about zis place.  About vhat vas happening."  She glanced down at him for a moment, before looking away.  

"I've always known, Kurt.  I've always known."  And before he could ask her what she meant by that cryptic comment, she unfurled her huge wings and sprung into the air, leaving him with the flight back to the Institute to try to figure out exactly what it was she said.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

I rather like this fic.  It came out cool; I hope you all did too.  

MetaChi:  Ah, it's alright, I don't really mind!!  ^.^  I do like the Youth of the Nation one, and am glad I had an opportunity to post it!

Oh, another note!  Since a year has passed and Scott and Jean were seniors, right?  So they're in college, right?  I think so…so if they don't really show up much in these, y'all know why.  


	4. Time Goes By

Ech.  Sorry it took me so long to update, folks.  I kind of get depressed when I get so few reviews—*cough cough*—so I kind of held off updating.  Oh, and for the record, I know now that Scott and Jean are instructors.  ^.^

For a reference, this story is set…oh, maybe 10 years or so in the future from 'Shift.'

Enjoy!

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            "Well, team, that was a good effort there!" Cyclops said cheerily, and if you were only listening to his voice, you would have been unable to tell that he was bruised and battered.

            "Oh, give it a rest, Cyclops," Shadowcat muttered, voicing the opinion of most of the rest of the team.  "We got our sorry little asses beaten, and you know it."  A chorus of angry mutters confirmed this statement.  

            "Well, maybe we didn't win, but we did put up a good fight, and we stopped Magneto," he said, somewhat defensively.  "That's the important thing."  The gathered X-Men all sort of stared at Cyclops for a moment, before turning away with varying comments of dissent.  The only one not offering an opinion was Nightcrawler, who was perched on the wing of the Blackbird, looking down at the proceedings below.  He ached all over, and like the others below, his X-Men uniform was torn in many places and spattered liberally with shed blood, both his own and that of his teammates and enemies.  Though he wasn't seriously injured, he was feeling seriously stressed.  He needed a break.

            _Scott, you haven't changed a bit in ten years,_ he thought, shaking his head and leaping lightly from the wing of the jet.  He winced as he made contact, and did not bother to hide it.  He felt like shit.  He approached Cyclops, laying on hand on the taller man's shoulder to get his attention.  He turned.

            "Yes?  Oh, Nightcrawler.  Can I do something for you?"  The weary blue elf nodded.  

            "Actually, _ja,_" he said with a nod.  "You can grant me leave.  I'm sorry, Cyke, but I need a few veeks off, to recover."

            "But, Nightcrawler," Cyclops protested as the pair of them began walking towards the jet's hatch, "we've been through worse than this, and came out worse off and you never needed any time off."

            "Ach.  _Ja_, I know," he explained.  "I just…I don't know.  I need time to regain my equilibrium.  I need to get avay, and…I just need to go through things, sort things out."  He looked pleadingly at the man into whose hands he placed his life regularly.  Cyclops shrugged.

            "You know I can't stop you," Cyclops said, spreading his hands.  "Just…is there anywhere we can drop you?"  Nightcrawler looked out over the valley below.  They were perched up in the Rocky Mountains, the shattered remains of a mountain stronghold of Magneto's visible on the next ridge over.

            "Vhat's the nearest big city?" he asked.

            "I'm not sure," he said slowly.  "I think Bozeman's pretty big, and they do have an airport there."

            "That sounds good," Nightcrawler said abruptly.  "You can drop me there."

            "Don't you want to go back to the Institute to get supplies or anything?" Cyclops asked.  Nightcrawler shook his head.

            "_Nein,_" he said.  "My pack ought to be enough stuff for me if I get them all."  Cyclops nodded.  The packs Nightcrawler was referring to were an emergency pack kept in each of the airborne vehicles used by the X-Men, each of which contained an extra uniform, a change of civilian clothing, water, about a day's worth of dried food, and a wad of cash, with a few other miscellaneous survival items, and in Kurt's case they also held an image inducer.  They were there in case of emergencies, but they could also come in handy at times like now.  Nightcrawler stuck out his hand, and Cyclops shook it warmly.

            "Kurt, be careful," was his parting comment as the blue-furred mutant walked off to collect his gear.

They left him just outside the Bozeman Airport, staying long enough to rent him a car under Professor X's name and wish him luck in finding the balance he was seeking.  Since it rather late at night, he sought out a cheap motel just outside the airport after seeing them off.

            The next day, during which he rose very late for him, he traveled down into Bozeman, intending on looking around.  He saw a sign for the Museum of the Rockies, and some impulse prompted him to go.  He gave the man at the front desk the eight dollars for admission and walked into the first display.

            When he saw the animatronic _Maiasaura _with her hatchlings, what exactly he took this break to search for came a little more clearly into focus; the dinosaurs had triggered his memory.  She had been gone for nearly seven years now, leaving just after she finished high school with the claim that she needed to see the world before she started college.  He got the feeling she hadn't meant her own.  None of them had seen or heard from her since.

            He thought he had loved her.  He figured he still did, somewhere deep inside.  They had been close, and he had never thought she would leave as abruptly as she had, but she did, and sometimes at night it was all he could do not to think about her, to wonder where she was, if she was all right, and if she missed him the way he missed her.

            He sighed, leaning against the handrail and staring broodily at the _Orodromeus_ robots behind the Maiasaur.  He didn't know how coming here would help him find her or even get over her, but he did truly hope the simplicity of Western life, even in so large a city as Bozeman, would help him sort out some of the other issues in his life.  

            He wandered through the rest of the exhibits, killing a good hour and a half and getting his eight dollars worth as he read about dinosaur parental habits, ecology, and the history of transportation in the state of Montana.  He spent a lot of time at the fossil bank, where an elderly man was spending time preparing fossils brought in by Museum curator Jack Horner's crew as the public watched.  The man was carefully scraping pale rock off of black bits Kurt assumed were bones.

            "Now these," he said when he realized when Kurt was there, "are fossils found at Wild Blue Yonder Microsite, discovered and named by one of our younger permanent paleontologists.  She's a little eccentric, but she's very dedicated, and really good at what she does, and our curator, Doctor Horner likes her, so she remains with us.  A microsite is a small deposit of little fossils, most teeth and phalanges, or toe and finger bones.  You see…" He continued on, pointing out and describing the various teeth and small bones in the collection, but Kurt only half-listened.  He thanked the man for the information when he stopped to draw breath, and walked off, chuckling to himself.  It seemed like the kind of thing he could imagine her doing.  He bought a postcard with some of the dinosaurs from the museum on it, and returned to downtown Bozeman.

            It was getting late, and Kurt wanted somewhere to sit and think. He didn't feel like returning to his motel, so a little inquiry among the Bozeman natives led him to a bar called The Bone Digger.  He wasn't a drinking man by nature, and bars were usually so crowded he felt vulnerable and exposed in them, but he was told that this place was cozy and usually not very full, so he decided to check it out.  When he found it, hidden away on the outskirts of a residential neighborhood, he stopped to look at the sign above the door.  It looked kind of old, and had a head-on view of a skull he now recognized as a _Maiasaura_ emblazoned over a crossed pickaxe and brush, with the bar name underneath.  He lingered outside for a moment, before pushing his way in and taking a seat at the end of the bar, in a shadowy corner.  He ordered a drink and looked around.

            The bar was pretty nice, from what he knew of them anyway.  There was a scattering of small tables between the center of the bar and the door.  Down at his end, there was a clear space and a dartboard, though no one was playing at the moment.  At the far end of the bar, a trio of pool tables stood, with ample space between and around them to play a good game, and full sets of all the associated paraphernalia. No one was playing there at the moment either.  In fact, there were maybe half-a-dozen people in the bar altogether, including the bartender.  There were TVs scattered liberally across the bar, tuned surprisingly to the Discovery Channel.  

            The bartender, having nothing else to do, came over and introduced himself to Kurt.  

            "You're a new face around here, aren't you stranger?" he said genially.  "My name's Zeke."

            "Kurt," the disguised mutant said with a nod.  "Kurt Wagner."

            "You don't sound like you're from around here," Zeke commented with a hint of question.

            "Ah.  Vell, I'm not.  German."

            "Thought so.  How long you been here?"

            "In Bozeman only a day, but in ze United States maybe ten, eleven years now."

            "Really?  Montanan, born and bred."

            "So where'd you come up with the name of this bar?" Kurt asked, pausing to take a drink and changing the subject.  Zeke looked around.

            "Well, a friend of mine's a rock hound, a bone hunter who works under our local celebrity, Jack Horner.  I don't know if you know him…" He waited for Kurt's nod of confirmation, before continuing.  "Well anyway, Dr. Horner's crew likes to celebrate when they return from digs, and I had been thinking of opening a bar, so I named it in honor of them, and it's mostly those paleontologists who come here."

            "I see.  Zat's cool," Kurt said, swirling the beer around in his bottle.

            "Actually, my buddy called in earlier," Zeke continued.  "They're coming in tonight, what with the season finishing and all.  Stick around a while and you may get a bit of a show."  As if his words had been a cue, the door to the bar opened and people began to pour in, at least fifty of them.  They were all fairly fit, and showed varying degrees of tans and sunburns.  They were laughing and talking, and moved around as if they owned the place, coming up to the bar and calling out orders, or taking seats at the tables and looking at menus.  

            A trio of men and a woman sat down in the seats nearest him, and after ordering drinks among them, started up a game of darts.  Kurt turned around to watch, and was surprised when the quickly and willing included him in their conversation.  He spent the next hour happily, feeling truly relaxed for the first time in years.  Their talk turned often to dinosaurs and the summer's dig, to which he didn't have much to add, but he could and willingly did fill them in on the big things that had been happening during the summer, a lot of which they had no knowledge of.  He even got up and played a round of darts, though he lost horribly.  Suddenly, the woman, Dawn, looked up.

            "Ooh, hey look guys," she said.  "It's starting!"

            "Vhat is?" Kurt asked.

            "We play an annual pool tournament here," Dawn explained with a smile.  "It's fun to watch, even if not many of us play."

            "I don't know why any of us even try anymore," Zeke added, leaning over and cleaning out a glass.  "Ever since Gandalf started playing, no one else has had a chance."

            "Gandalf?" Kurt asked.  "Who's zat?"

            "She's one of our full-time paleontologists," Dawn explained.  "We gave her that nickname because it seems she can work magic when excavating difficult bone deposits.  So come on!"  Dawn grabbed his wrist, luckily above the sleeve, and wrist of one of her companions, and pulled them up and towards the other end of the bar.  "Let's watch!"  Under her quick direction, they all claimed seats atop the bar, where they could see over the heads of the milling observers and participants to the tables themselves.  Dawn pointed out Gandalf to him, a short woman in a black cowboy hat, but a combination of her height, her hat, and the lighting made it impossible for him to see her face.  He couldn't be sure, but he had a feeling that this mysterious Gandalf was the same young paleontologist who had named the Wild Blue Yonder Site.

            Dawn had been right.  Gandalf was a pool shark—she was good.  She had a knowledge of the physics of the game that became apparent as he watched the way she lined up her shots.  She was an efficient player, but she was not arrogant about it.  In fact, the whole tournament had an air of being one big joke.  Bets were being placed, not on who would win, but who would lose first, who Gandalf would beat the fastest, and who would lose last to her.

            Mainly she stayed in the center of the mass of people, making small chatter with the other players and the nearest spectators.  What he could see of her face was always smiling, always laughing at some joke or comment.  One time, though, when one of the guys watching pushed through the crowd to hand her a beer and she tilted back her head to swig it down, he thought she caught his eye, even if hers were so deeply shadowed it was hard to tell.  But she turned back to her game, and a few moments later, he wasn't so sure.

            It was all over soon.  To the unsurprise of everyone there, Gandalf had won, but when everyone pressed forward to congratulate her and offer to buy her drinks, she turned shy and modest, staring at the floor as she shook hands with everyone around her.  Eventually the crowd broke, drifting back to the bar, the tables, or, in the case of his companions, the dartboard.  However, someone else had claimed it, and during the tournament an intensive discussion about results of this summer's research had started, so, excusing himself, he remained at the bar, watching as a bunch of younger kids, college students probably, messed around on the pool table.  (And yes, they were shooting pool…sickos.)  He looked around for the mysterious Gandalf, but she appeared to have disappeared.  

            Kurt shrugged and turned around, ordering another beer and beginning to nurse it.  Though people greeted him kindly when they came up to the bar to get drinks for the tables and Zeke made sure to exchange a word or two with him whenever he passed, he didn't get into any more conversations, and he began to do the thinking he came for.

            "Why so blue, Blue?" asked a feminine voice by his side.  He started and looked up, wondering how this person knew—but no.  As he saw his reflection in the mirror above the bar, he remembered that even with his image inducer his hair was blue, and he realized that he was looking quite melancholy.  The person was Gandalf, sitting lightly on the stool next to him.  Her hat was pulled low over her face; he still couldn't see her eyes.  She made no indication that she had spoken; in fact, she was just staring straight down at the bar's surface, idly twirling the neck of her beer bottle.

            "Just thinking," he said slowly, regarding her.

            "About what?"  Something about her seemed very familiar… 

            "My choices in life," he replied frankly.  "I vonder sometimes if I chose ze right path."

            She nodded, still looking forward.  "Yeah, I feel that way sometimes.  I left a lot of good friends on the East Coast when I came out here for college, and sometimes I wonder if I should have stayed."  Her voice sounded so familiar to him, but he was having trouble placing it.  "What do you do?"

             "Oh.  Um.  Well, I'm a teacher," he said, thinking quickly.  It wasn't really that far from the truth; he was one of the instructors of the young mutants at Xavier's.  "At an exclusive private school in northern New York," he clarified for her, watching to see her reaction.  It surprised him.

            She threw her arms about his neck, hat falling back as she pressed her face into the hollow of his shoulder.  "Oh Kurt, I knew it was you!" she cried, laughing.  "As soon as I saw that hair, I knew it had to be you!  And if it's not, I'm going to feel really stupid…" He laughed as well, hugging her back. 

            "_Ja_, Janella," he said.  "It's me!"

            "Oh, I knew it was, I knew it was!" she said happily.  "I had just wanted to, you know, make sure!"  He knew now why he had trouble recognizing her voice; it was accented differently that when he had last seen her.  She still had her New Jersey accent, but it was overlaid with a Western drawl, and there was a definite hint of something else he could not recognize in there.  

            He held her closer.  He never could have imagined it would feel this good to have her in his arms again, and if he was any judge of the way she snuggled against his chest; she liked being in his arms as well.  Of course, it could only be excitement at seeing him again, but he hoped it was more than that.  The laughter of the bartender made the both of them look up, and draw apart, blushing, as they realized that the majority of the bar was staring at them.

            "Get out the record book, boys!" Zeke called out mockingly.  "It's official!  Gandalf has actually had too much to drink!"  He leant against the bar and looked Janella in the eye.  "You do know that's a person you're hugging and not a sauropod femur, right?"

            She feigned shock.  "It's not?  And here I thought I was having the best of luck tonight!"  A wave of laughter passed around the bar, and everyone turned back to what they had been doing.

            "So, Gandalf, how do you know Kurt here?" Zeke asked as he used a rag to wipe out another glass.

            "He was one of my, er, close friends back east," she said with a nod.  Zeke chuckled.

            "So can I get you two anything?"  Kurt shook his head, but Janella nodded.

            "Yeah, give me my usual, but make it magic!"  Zeke nodded.

            "Magic?" Kurt asked as he walked off.

            "Irken liquor.  Strong stuff.  No one knows it though," she added.  "They think it's moonshine!"  He sat back and just looked her over, while she pulled down the last of her beer.  She hadn't really changed much physically in seven years.  She had grown maybe two inches more, but barely that.  She was leaner now, more muscular.  He knew that she had always been able to hold her own in a fight, but now she looked it.  Her hair was still in the thrice-braided style she had worn in high school, though now it was streaked reddish by exposure to the sun, which had also tanned her skin to a deep bronze.

            "You haven't changed a bit," he told her.  She grinned.

            "You have," she said, reaching up to ruffle his close-cropped indigo hair, "but I like it."  And he had.  He had actually grown another three or four inches after high school, and he too had muscled out a bit more.  "I think you've gotten handsomer since I last saw you."

            "And you've gotten more beautiful," he said with grin.  "But zen again, zat's to be expected, isn't it?"  She blushed, and picked up her drink, which Zeke had slid down the bar a moment ago.  It was in a shot glass, and bubbling faintly green.  He wouldn't have touched it, but Janella picked it up and knocked it back with one gulp, before slugging down a bottle of water pressed into her hand by the bartender.  

            "Woo.  Okay, that's enough for tonight," she said after a moment.  "Can I talk you into degrading yourself enough to mix me a Shirley Temple, Zeke?" 

            "For you, girl, anything," he said.  "I do hope you intend on paying off your tab sometime soon though.  It oughta be enough to finance my new car and put my son through college!"

            "Ha ha, very funny," Janella said sarcastically.  "I'm in stitches."

            "Actually, make it two and zey're both on me," Kurt interjected quickly.  Janella smiled, and Zeke shrugged.

            "Alright then.  Two Shirleys, comin' up!"  He walked down to the other end of the bar, and Janella leaned towards Kurt.

            "So," she said in a low voice.  "What have you been doing lately?"  

            "Stuff vith ze X-Men," he replied, even lower than her.  "Actually, ve just had a spat vith Magneto yesterday.  Up in ze Rocky Mountains."  Janella looked around.

            "Are the rest of you here?" she asked.  He shook his head.

            "_Nein._  I needed some time off."

            "Yeah, me too.  Seven years of it," she said with a bitter laugh.  He regarded her levelly as she stared broodily at the bar top.

            "Regretting it?" he asked softly.

            "I don't know," she said with a sigh.  "Some days I think that I'd be happy even if I never returned to the East Coast again, and some days I'm nearly on the verge of throwing my clothes in a suitcase and booking the next flight."

            "Is zat vhy you haven't contacted us?" he asked.  She shrugged.

            "The Professor's talked to me a few times since I got back to Earth," she said.  "But I asked that he not tell anyone I was back.  I just…I didn't want anyone to know."  Zeke was approaching now, the two glasses in hand.  Already he was opening his mouth to offer some comment, but Janella flashed an odd hand sign at him, and he only set the glasses down and walked off.

            "Vhy not?" Kurt asked, puzzled.

            "Because I knew that Scott would try to convince me to join the X-Men," she said slowly.  "Because I wanted to get through college without having the added weight of worrying about all that on my shoulders.  Because after I finished college, I already had a job, one that I loved.  Because…because I knew if I saw you again I wouldn't be able to stop myself from going back.  That was why I left so abruptly that one morning after graduation…" Kurt remained silent, waiting to see if she'd say more, and after swirling about the contents of her glass and taking a long pull on the straw, she continued.  "My God, that was the hardest thing to do!  But I had been offered a chance to go to Irk, even if it later turned out to be one big joke just to make fun of Earthlings…" She shook her head.  "And when I came back, I was afraid to return to the Institute."

            "Vhat?  Janella, you should have no reason for zat!" Kurt said, drawing back and eyeing her alarmedly.  She looked away.

            "This is going to sound so corny…" she warned.

            "You know you can tell me," Kurt said, resting one arm about her waist, almost hesitantly.

            "I—I was just worried that—that you would have already found someone else to love," she whispered, so quietly he almost missed it.  "I was afraid of being replaced, so I just didn't go back."  He didn't know how to respond to that, he was so shocked.  She took his silence to mean what she had feared had happened, though, and sharply stood.  "I should go," she said shortly.  "It's getting late."  As she turned to leave, he thought he saw tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.  Reaching out quickly, he grabbed her wrist and hauled her back down into her seat. 

            "Janella," he said firmly.  "No vone could ever, ever replace you in my heart, even if I found somevone else who accepted me and loved me for who and vhat I was.  You of all people should know zat!"  She blushed under his gaze, pulling her hand free and dropping it into her lap.

            "I—I—Oh, Kurt, I'm sorry," she said softly.  "It's just…you know how I get…"

            "_Ja_, I do," he said, tilting her head and kissing the corner of her mouth gently.  "I do."  She blushed brighter, and he took her hand again and helped her to her feet.  "Come.  I'd like to go back to my motel, so ve can talk a bit more freely."  She nodded, and together, the pair of them pushed among the people and out through the door.  They hadn't walked more than a few feet when one of the burlier members of the dig, a guy named Frank, pelted through the door.  He was a very nice guy, and didn't really know his own strength, so when he tapped Kurt on the shoulder to get his attention, he sent the slimmer mutant, who had been caught off guard, stumbling forward.  He tripped over a loose bottle, and went sprawling on the ground.  Frank started forward, hand outstretched to help Kurt up and an apology on his lips, when Kurt's inducer shorted out and died.

            Frank screamed, and dropped to the ground in a dead faint.  The noise brought the patrons of the bar investigating, including Zeke, who held a gun in his hands.  Janella knew it only contained knockout darts, because Zeke was the kind of man who wouldn't want the death of another on his soul, but the sight still scared her.  They all stopped stock still at the sight of Kurt, still sprawled on the pavement as she knelt and helped him up.  Suddenly, Zeke cocked and aimed his gun.

            "Get out of the way, Gandalf!" he said, voice dangerously low.  "That's a mutant there!"   

            "I know," Janella replied in the same voice, leaving Kurt sitting on the ground and straightening up.  "So am I.  Is that a problem?"  As she talked, she snapped open the magenta demon's wings characteristic of the form she fought in so many years ago, and the crowd drew back with a collective gasp as the rest of the changes appeared.  Zeke, and all the others, were staring at her in shock, but already Kurt could see him bringing his gun to bear on her instead of him.  Scowling, she dug into her pocket and tossed a surprisingly large roll of bills at him.  "For my tab, Zeke," she said sadly.  "Keep the change."  She dropped back beside Kurt and laid her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in a cue he remembered from the days they fought side-by-side together.  Laying his hand on hers and rising into a half-crouch, he teleported the two of them away.

            He knew he should have visualized where he was going before he actually 'ported them, so he wasn't exactly sure where they'd appear, and was glad when they found themselves in the back of his rented car.  The abrupt re-entry into existence had tumbled them together, and it took them a few minutes to get themselves apart.  Kurt climbed over into the front seat, and after a moment, Janella joined him, fully human again.  They sat in silence for a few moments.

            "So…can I take you anyvhere?" Kurt asked sheepishly.  It seemed like the right thing to say, and Janella nodded.

            "Please," she said.  "My apartment.  We should probably get there before the sure-to-be-formed posse decides to."  It was Kurt's turn to nod, and starting up the car, he navigated it through Bozeman under her direction.  When he pulled up in front of it, she hopped out.  "I'll be right back," she said, and darted inside.

            Several lights flicked on up above, and a silhouette passed in front of the windows hurriedly as Janella scurried around inside.  When she remerged, she was overloaded with precariously balanced bags and boxes.  He immediately hopped out of the car and took some of her burden from her.

            "Ach, Janella, vhat's all zis?" he asked as he opened the back door with his tail and began pushing things inside.  "It looks like you're moving!"

            "Duh!" she replied with some asperity, her voice muffled by the stuff in her arms.  "It's not like I can stay here, is it?"

            "Er…"

            "Exactly!  I can't!  So…" She trailed off, carefully rearranging the things in the car so the rest would fit.

            "So…vhere vill you be going?" Kurt prompted, watching her closely.

            "Well…I was hoping back to the Institute with you," she said, settling some things down so they didn't obstruct the view through the back windshield.  

            "Ve'd be glad to have you," he said, taking her by the shoulder and turning her to face him.  "And zere are a lot of people there who vould be glad to see you again."  She blushed slightly, but nodded.  "Vhat vill you do zere, though?"  She shrugged.

            "I don't know," she admitted with a shrug, shutting the door.  "Maybe I'll look around, see if there're any openings in the area for someone in my field.  If not…" She shrugged again.  "Who knows?"

            ""Who knows, indeed?" he asked, pulling her into a quick embrace before bamfing to the other side of the car and getting in.  She got in on her side, pulling her hat back up onto her head and low over her eyes.  She glanced over at him, smiling slightly, though it was hard to see him in the deep shadows until he switched his inducer back on.  He looked at her questioningly and, at her nod, the pair of them pulled off into the streets of Bozeman, just another nondescript pair of people on their way home from a late night at the bar.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

Shout-outs!

The Little Prophet—Oh, I hope you're not the only one who got the title.  -.-'  That would be sad, you're right!  Here's another for you!

H.C.G.—I'm glad ya liked it Sammy!  I've been dying to post that one for a while!  XD Hope you like this, too!  I wrote it when I was in Montana!  *Wink*

Boy, I hope more people review.  I should have another up soon!


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